


A Flustered Alistair

by IntrovertedLilies



Series: Miscellaneous [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 18:45:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4360217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntrovertedLilies/pseuds/IntrovertedLilies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’ve been watching you for some time, and it seems that you and our fearless leader are inseparable these days. Joined at the hip, almost.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Flustered Alistair

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by in-game dialogue.  
> Ended up going in a weird direction, in my opinion. Anyway, hope you enjoy.

* * *

 

“Alistair, may I have a word?”

“Of course,” he said. “Anything for my favorite mage ever.” He barely paused between spoonfuls of stew, shoveling it down as if it was his last meal.

The elder mage observed him, shaking her head before continuing. “I’ve been watching you for some time, and it seems that you and our fearless leader are inseparable these days. Joined at the hip, almost.”

This time he did pause, spoon halfway to his mouth. “Uh . . .” He cast a glance around the campfire, everyone was looking between him and Wynne. Catching his lover’s gaze, he lifted an eyebrow, questioning. Gemma returned his look with a shrug, sticking her spoon into her mouth. “That’s a bit of an overstatement, don’t you think?” He asked, turning his attention back to Wynne.

“Not at all, really, considering your little escapade with our dear Warden the other night. And the night two weeks ago, or--” Zevran grunted, rubbing his side where Gemma elbowed him in the ribs.

Alistair felt his face grow hot. It was no secret that he and Gemma shared a tent on occasion. That they were intimate from time to time, no matter how hard he tried to pretend otherwise that the other members of their party could not hear them. He stared at Wynne. “What are you on about?” He asked slowly.

“I just thought that since the two of you are now in an intimate relationship, that I might part some wisdom on the matter of where babies really come from.” “Pardon?” Alistair’s brow creased, lowering his bowl to his lap, confused. He had no idea what provoked this conversation. It certainly wasn’t a topic to be discussed when the other members of the party were sitting right there with them. Zevran was watching him, amusement glinting in his eyes. Gemma and Leliana shared a look, quietly sipping on their stew. Sten stood, excusing himself without a word, and Morrigan was sitting in her usual spot far away from everyone else. _Thank the Maker_. Alistair thought to himself.

“Look, Wynne, wha--”

She plowed on, ignoring him. “Now, I know the Chantry says you dream about your babies and the good Fade spirits take them out of the fade and leave them in your arms . . .”

A loud snort from Morrigan drew his attention away from the elder woman. He glared. Apparently she wasn’t so far out of earshot as he had thought. Great. Alistair did his best to refocus his attention on Wynne. A stifled laugh from Leliana told him that the elder woman had said something, apparently amusing, and most likely addressed to him, but he didn’t catch it. He didn’t know why Wynne was discussing this topic now, but he needed to stop her. The heat in his cheeks slowly spread across the rest of his skin.

“Wynne-” “. . . But what actually happens is when a boy and a girl really love each other--”

“Andraste’s flaming sword!” He exclaimed, dropping his empty bowl to the ground, his face growing redder. “I _know_ where babies come from!” The sound of the combined laughter of Gemma, Leliana, and Zevran hit his ears, and the embarrassment that had been building crashed down on him like a wave.

Wynne quirked a brow. “Do you, Alistair? Do you really?” Her tone was patronizing, as if he was some small child who couldn’t comprehend what she was talking about. That he didn’t understand the meaning of conception. It was an insult really. He may act like a fool sometimes, but that didn’t mean he was stupid.

“Well, I certainly _hope_ so!” He exclaimed, his voice pitched higher on the last two words.

The elder woman tilted her head back, her eyes widening. “Oh, alright then.” Her expression softened and she smiled. “Aww, look at you, you’re all red and mottled. How cute.”

Alistair covered his face with his hands, leaning back, letting out a low groan. Maker’s tears, why? He could actually feel the heat radiating off his skin. He kept leaning back until he fell off the log, his back hitting the dirt with a dull thud. Was everyone out to constantly tease him? It was bad enough that he was already awkward to begin with. He didn’t need Wynne making it any worse.

When he didn’t hear his lover’s laughter anymore, he lifted one hand, taking a peek. Gemma was still sitting in her spot, her head lowered with the palm of her hand over her eyes, while her other arm was wrapped around her middle. He couldn’t hear her laughing, but the shake of her upper body told him she was. “Maker, Gemma, is the whole situation really that funny?”

She slid her hand down to cover her mouth, shaking her head. “Yes and no.” She managed to choke out.

Alistair frowned, ignoring the others as they continued to giggle. Propping himself up on his elbows, he glared at Wynne. “You did that on purpose,” he said, pointing an accusing finger in her direction.

“Now, now Alistair, why would I do such a thing?” She asked, feigning innocence.

His eyes narrowed. “Because you’re wicked. That frail old lady act? I’m not so fooled. I’m onto you now.” The mage chuckled. Alistair moved into a sitting position, whipping his head in Morrigan’s direction. “It was you. You had something to do with this!”

The witch returned his look, lips curled, unamused. “Yes, because I have made it my life’s mission to embarrass you to no end. Get over yourself, Alistair.” She turned her back on them all, disappearing across the camp into her tent.

“What about you three, hmm? I bet you’re in on this too.”

“Don’t look at me,” Leliana said.

“Very amusing and I would love to take credit for it,” Zevran smirked.

“Unfortunately, I had no part in it.”

“Gemma.” Alistair looked at her, lifting an eyebrow. She simply shook her head, smiling. He watched each of them in turn, his expression changing into one of skepticism. Leaning forward, propping his arms on the log, he pointed at each of them in turn. “Liars,” he accused.

“Maker’s breath, Alistair,” Gemma laughed. “I-I swear we had nothing to do with it.” She caught the look in his eyes. She coughed, clearing her throat, trying her best to stop the giggles but failing. “Wynne was acting of her own volition, I promise.”

“It was all me, Alistair,” Wynne admitted.

He looked at them for a moment before letting out a snort. “If you say so. But just so you know . . .” He paused a few seconds for dramatic effect. “I’m on to all four of you.” Wynne just shook her head, Zevran smirked again, and Gemma and Leliana fell into another giggle fit. All of them, save for his lover, moved away at his glare.

“Aw, do try to smile, love.” Gemma ran a hand through his hair, leaning forward to place a light peck on his cheek. “Wynne was just teasing.”

“Embarrassing me until I’m red in the face? I can do well to make a fool of myself, thank you. I don’t need all of you pitching in as well.” “But you’re so cute when you’re all hot and flustered.” She gave his shoulder a squeeze. “And how was I supposed to know that she was going to talk to you about _that_?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe because you’re wicked too.” He fell quiet for a moment, gazing into the fire, watching the flames flick and dance. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “You didn’t seem to get flustered when Wynne started talking about . . . Our private affairs. Come to think of it, you never seem to get embarrassed.” He looked up at her. “Why is that, exactly?”

“Me? Wicked? Never.” She chuckled, her laughter soft. Her fingers trailed down the back of his head, coming to rest at the nape of his neck, nails grazing lightly across skin. He closed his eyes, sighing. “Maybe that’s because I’m not so easily embarrassed like you, love.”

“I’m not easily embarrassed.” He objected, opening one eye to look at her. “You guys just happen to catch me when my guard is down.”

“Hmm,” she grinned, curling her fingers around the curve of his jaw. Leaning forward she traced small kisses along his jawline. He swallowed as the tendons in his neck jumped at her touch. Her breath billowed over his ear. A warm breeze as she nipped at it.

“Maker’s breath, Gemma!” He exclaimed, feeling a familiar heat returning to his face. He twisted so he was facing her, taking note of her features. A triumphant look in her amber eyes and an amused smile gracing her lips.

“Point proven,” she chimed.

“Is everyone in this party out to tease me on a daily basis?”

“It’s not like you make it hard.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her off the log and into his lap. She didn’t resist his embrace. “Perhaps I should get everyone to embarrass you instead. Keep them off my back for a while.”

“Good luck with that,” she laughed, a little harder than he thought necessary.

“You don’t think I could do it?”

“Well, you could try,” she smirked, pressing her mouth to his in a brief kiss before squirming out of his arms. “Don’t think you’ll succeed, though.”

The corner of his mouth quirked. “Is that a challenge?” He queried, standing, following her across the camp.

She paused, hand on the flap of his tent, opening it slowly as she mulled over his question. When she looked at him again, there was a glint in her eyes. “Perhaps.”

He grinned, “Then challenge accepted!”


End file.
